Zuko and Friends
by Lolcano
Summary: Making friends is hard, guys. Fills in the spaces between the Western Air Temple episode and the one after it whatever it's called and stuff.
1. Forever alone

**Yeah, I dunno. Whatever. Could be better. **

* * *

"Soooooooooo…," drawled Sokka, desperately trying to fill the oppressive silence that had fallen over the group. …ooooo…," he continued, his face turning a little red because he was running out of air, but unwilling to stop and let the silence return. It was like water bending in the desert. He wanted to draw out the ocean but could only managing a drawn out wibbly wobbly little stream, because there was just nothing there to work with.

Alas, his valiant attempt at a conversation hung in the air as ponderously as the great rocky temples that surrounded them.

So he gulped in some more air and tried again. "So what's new?!" he asked chipperly.

It was such an absurdly obvious question that no one bothered to answer. It was quite obvious what was new. What was new was sitting not too far from Sokka. What was new was looking pensively into his bowl of stew, his long black hair falling over his eyes, doing his best to appear friendly and overall not evil.

"Eh? Anyone?" said Sokka, turning his head back and forth with a desperate, plastered grin on his face. He turned to his sister for support, but she just pouted and turned away. Gosh. What was _her_ problem?

Nobody seemed much inclined to say anything and the fire crackled and glowed in the silence. It's colours were reflected in the sky. High above, like smoke, the sky was turning black, and where sun met earth was a glowing fire. Streaks of red and orange tinted the sky, and the sky was all around them. Above, below, to the right, to the left.

The silence was becoming burdensome, so Teo ventured to say, "Hey, uh, we found an echo chamber in the temple today. It was pretty cool!" He grinned, the easy type of grin that can often be found on good-natured and kind people, which come so easily because they are so accustomed to it. "It was neat, huh Haru?" he said, nudging his nearby companion with his elbow. The tall young man nodded silently. Nothing more was said, and, Teo could not help wishing that his dependable new friend was not quite so taciturn. Silence fell again. But hope was still not lost! "Right, the Duke, it was neat!?" he asked.

"Yeah!" piped up the little boy, "The room was so big!"

"I wonder what it was used for," said Teo, still looking for something to say, "How did the air-benders use it back in your day, Aang?"

This seemed to draw Aang out of his thoughtful silence. He grinned and happily explained the nuances of Air Nomad culture and their use of Echo Chamber.

"That's amazing!" exclaimed Teo. Zuko could not understand how he could bring up a conversation so effortlessly.

"Aw, it's nothing! Now, the Air Bison obstacle course, now that's what you need to see!" said Aang, and he moved on to describe the extraordinary virtues of Air Bison Obstacle Courses and other various wonders of the Air Temple. He talked with enthusiasm, and yet as he continued it almost imperceptibly teetered on the edge of wistfulness.

This vein of conversation proved more fruitful than the other, and soon drifting up into the sky came the sound of many voices.

Even Katara forgot that she was (for whatever reason) annoyed at the moment and joined in merrily.

"No way!" she said, laughing and smiling at whatever Aang had said.

"No, it's true! We did it all the time!"

"That's so brave of you!"

"Yeah," said Aang nonchalantly, "It's no big deal," although in fact he had always been afraid of it. But Katara had said it was brave and he wanted to appear cool.

Finally they had managed to salvage something of a cheery atmosphere. Everyone took turns speaking, joking and laughing.

But Zuko was silent. He sat silently at his seat. His back was straight, a rigid, unwieldy position that surely wasn't comfortable.

And he wasn't comfortable. He didn't know what he was supposed to be doing, or what he was supposed to be saying. Everyone else was talking, and he felt somehow that he should be too, that this was what is expected when meeting people for the first time, what is required for a friendship. Not that, in any case, this was the first time they had met, nor where they necessarily friends. So, anxious for his mouth to be doing something, he instead he stuck some food into his mouth.

He chewed then breathed in and out slowly, unconsciously falling into the same rhythm as the flickering fire. In out, in out. The flame danced in the now dark sky.

Everyone ignored him. _Good,_ he thought, at although it was almost spiteful at first he realized it was true, that it really was good. The awkwardness of his presence was falling away as they forgot about him, and a comfortable companionship had fallen over them all, a warm friendly blanket that even included Zuko, whether they had meant it to or not. He was at the very corner of the blanket, the drafty residue, but for him who was so unaccustomed to it, it felt like the softest, warmest silk. He listened to them chatter, almost happily, fancying himself almost part of it. Gone was the awkward silence, which Zuko had been so keenly aware of, the silence that he had been even more keenly aware that he was the cause, that everybody disliked him, and he felt something different inside of him. Something warm, almost like the burning flame anger he had sustained for so long, but different. He felt subdued, almost, but not weaker.

He was part of something, something _right._ Something good and true and for once he felt at peace.

"Does anyone want more soup?" Katara was asking.

At her reminder of food Zuko looked down at his bowl, realizing with a shock that it was empty. He held it out.

"I'll take some."

His speaking forcefully reminded everyone of his presence and suddenly the blanket that had been hanging so tenuously in the air had remembered that gravity existed and plummeted into the empty air that was so abundant about the temple.

Katara narrowed her eyes, slopping some more soup into his bowl irately. Its sound seemed somehow louder in the silence.

Kersploosh.

The night was completely dark now and the evening bugs where out, providing a convenient chorus to fill the silence that once again had fallen. _Criiiiii-ket. Criiiii- ket._ The glowing fire cast its light onto the others faces. It had lost its peaceful rhythm and was blazing rapidly.

"Soooooooooooooo….," went Sokka again. "Zuko," he said brightly, as if he had only just noticed the boy. "How are you?"

Oh, just fine and dandy. After all, he had just betrayed his father to come running off on a foolish quest, to help a bunch of peasants who didn't even like him anyway. What was he supposed to say?

Sokka was still trying to fill the silence with his inane chatter.

"You know, uh… got any hobbies? Besides, uh, hunting avatars and all that? Maybe stamp collecting? Yeah, stamp collecting, it's great fun, actually. In fact, if it's not your hobby, I totally recommend it. I mean-"

Zuko stood up suddenly, almost violently, and whatever Sokka had been about to say (probably some great tips on stamp collecting, that now, alas, we will never get to hear) died on his lips.

Everyone was staring at him. The fire cast strange shadows over his face, already strange and fearsome. He stood silently and they all watched him, as if expecting him to say something, but he knew not what. He turned away, and his face was covered in shadows. He looked at his empty bowl, and turned back to them. "I'm.." he began, still not entirely sure how to address them, "I'm done eating," he said, and he left.

The flames seemed to suddenly die down away from his presence, and even the people seemed somewhat subdued for a moment. No one spoke for a long time.

Then the Duke announced "I don't like him," with surprising vehemence. He hadn't said who, but of course everyone knew who_ him_ was.

The Duke pulled his legs close to him. "Why are we letting that Fire Nation guy stay with us anyway?" he said, pouting, "I _hate_ the Fire Nation." His eyes glowed ferociously, reflecting the burning flames, and for a moment the eight year old boy disappeared and in his place was a battle-scarred warrior who had seen far too much suffering already. Haru put an arm around his shoulder.

The others gave half-hearted explanations, but they fell sadly short of enthusiasm. Toph alone seemed to appear unworried, although she too had her qualms. But for now she gave a carefree yawn and stretched out lazily.

"Relax," she said, "He's not so bad. And _somebody _needs to teach Aang fire-bending."

Aang stared anxiously out into the darkness where Zuko had disappeared.

"Should someone go after him?" Aang asked. He knew that navigating the air temple, with its sudden drops and lack of rails, could be difficult at night. But no one else seemed to care, and on the contrary seemed to express a hope that he would take a fall, and therefore alleviate them of a great burden.

"He can look after himself," Katara said bitterly. The others shrugged in agreement, revealing their general apathy towards Zuko's fate. Toph would have gone after him, maybe, but her feet was still healing.

And they began to talk about other things. And for a while they even nearly forgot about their strange new companion.

But Zuko did not forget about them.

He had stormed away from the campfire until collapsing not far away from their behind a stone pillar. It was cold frigid and cast a terrible shadow over everything. He gave a defeated sigh and slumped down, running a hand through his long black hair.

He had messed everything up.

Again.

He'd wanted to impress them. He'd wanted them to see that he really wasn't so bad, that he had changed, that things would be different from then on. He'd wanted...oh he didn't know. He just had wished that maybe… he could do something right for once.

But he had done everything wrong.

Just by his presence he had made things awkward and he could never say the right thing and he got annoyed too quickly and was just in general a terrible person. No wonder they hated him.

And he even knew he couldn't blame them, not after what he had done. But he'd thought he had changed now and things would be different and they could be friends and maybe they could trust him and he'd do the _right_ thing for once and all would be hunky dory…. His thoughts tumbled into each other like a roaring waterfall, blurring and merging into one white mist.

Oh, but who was he kidding? He thought that once he'd changed sides everything would be simpler. That suddenly he would become perfectly good, that he'd never get angry again, that everyone would like him. That they could just forget everything that had happened, that he had done, and move on to the future.

But he supposed some things cannot be so easily forgotten.

Behind him the campfire glowed warm and friendly and he could hear voices drifting on the breeze. They were cheery and merry, and sometimes he could hear bright peals of laughter tumbling through the sky like sparks. There everything was happy and warm. A crackling merry flame fueled by mutual togetherness and companionship. These were people who would never abandon each other, never give up on each other, and always stick by each other. It was so different from his family, even though they were related by blood while these others were not. No, his sister could be relied on as much as a fish could be relied on to fly. His father… was crazy. And the one person he could have trusted, the only person who had cared for him at all…. Well Zuko had already burnt that bridge.

He suddenly realized how cold it was here, in the darkness and he shivered. The cold of the stone seeped into him and chilled him to the bone. The darkness was everywhere, cold, embracing and unfathomable. He was alone.

Behind him the fire glowed and the laughter floated up, and he watched forlornly from afar, cold and shrouded in darkness.

He looked away. He tried to take refuge within himself, trying to warming himself with the undying flames that had burned in his heart for so long. A burning determination fed by the insatiable desire in his heart, an unquenchable monster raging out against the world. A raging wrath sustained by a feeling of injustice, of the idea that something wasn't right and had to be fixed, a fire of confusion and undirected anger.

The raging burning fire that had always, driven him, warmed him, and had never given him peace.

But it was gone.

And all that was left was emptiness.


	2. Isn't it ionic?

The next morning, as is not unusual among people who spend any large amount of time together, Team Avatar fell unconsciously into a well-rehearsed routine where everyone had a purpose and knew it without it being asked or even consciously organized. From long experience they knew what had to be done and how to do it, and who should do it. Beds were folded up, animals fed, breakfast cooked, all seeming as elaborately planned like the most extravagantly organized dance number. Each player pirouetted across the stage with a synchronized unity, following some invisible script known only to them.

It was a careful, intricate dance, so precise that the addition of one more dancer was enough to throw the entire balance completely askew. This is what Zuko's presence did. Nobody knew where the prince had spent the night, but he appeared the next morning in their camp site early in the next morning to find himself some grand sort of organization that he did not understand. Everything was moving, each cog and gear turning with a certain definite purpose, but he knew not what they were. He felt rather useless and despaired because of it. This was exactly what he had been afraid of.

Zuko had spent the night back in his old campsite in the forest. He had returned to the woods, and not remained with the group just because he simply couldn't have stayed in the temple any longer. Not last night. It was too cold, too lonely, and brought back too many memories.

And so he left. It wasn't like anyone wanted him around anyways.

Shivering in the darkness, he had returned to his small campsite in the woods. He felt unbearable cold. He tried to light a fire. Carefully he gathered up some firewood, and began the blaze. The kindling caught first, and at first remained there, a small gleaming of fire that glowed gently in the darkness. It was warm and hot, but gave him no warmth. He was freezing. Zuko stared into the forest surrounding him and could see nothing but darkness, but black, impregnable woods, nothing but misery and despair.

And slowly, slowly the big logs caught fire. The flames worked its way up through the wood until it became a bright large blaze that danced merrily throughout the night. And Zuko watched the dancing flames, the high burning flames that had grown out of such a small gleam, and slowly the warmth of the fire reached into him and he realized not all was lost.

Of course they didn't trust him now, and he couldn't blame them for it. He couldn't expect them to trust him all at once, nor could he expect himself to change at once. But what he could do was lay the kindling. Begin small, work hard and gain their trust and the flames would burn higher, just like the campfire.

Besides, he couldn't doubt himself anymore. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is where he had to be. This was his destiny. Everything that had seemed so confusing before was now clear. This was right. This was true. No, the Fire Nation could not continue with its doctrine of manifest destiny, could not continue its cruel mistreatment of the other nations. No more could innocent people suffer under this tyranny, the tyranny of the Fire Lord. It had to be stopped.

And Zuko would help. This time, he would fight for what was right.

And at the end of it all, when the battle was fought and done, when the world was saved from peril, when the nations celebrated a new era of peace; at the end of all this the team would come up to him, pat him on the back and say: "Gee Zuko, you did great. You had a bit of a rough start there, buddy, and I had my doubts, but you really proved yourself in the end. We couldn't have done it without you. Good work."

And that would be enough. He wasn't asking for friendship here. He wasn't expecting them to all become buddy buddy with him, not after all he had done. But as long as he was useful, as long as he could help, as long as he could Do What Was Right, and play a tiny little part in the salvation of humankind, then it would all be worth it. It would all be worth it.

A cold evening breeze blew by, and he shivered.

But the next morning he returned to the others, ready to prove himself and imbued with the determination to Do What Was Right. He was ready, and indeed, determined, to be useful and helpful and become a valuable member of the team.

And he was filled with such hope for these things that when they did not immediately appear in front of him he became extraordinarily disheartened. He realized at once that he was not needed here. Everyone was doing something, filled with purpose and duty, busy with Very Important Tasks, everyone except him. And he felt rather like an actor who had wandered into the wrong stage and was playing a part he really didn't know or understand. He could only stand around in befuddlement, wondering where he had went wrong. He was the metaphorical third wheel. And not even the metaphorical third wheel of a cart or a wagon or something, but the third wheel on a bicycle or some other two-wheeled thing, which is even more useless because bicycles don't even need a third wheel in the first place and tacking one on is both pointless and tasteless.

He wished that someone would come up with him, give him some important task to do, even if it was menial and boring. Anything would be better than this uselessness. But nobody did, each one preoccupied in their own select tasks. He felt excluded, and the cold feeling from last night began to well up in his heart. But he quickly shook himself, determined not to feel sorry for himself, and decided that if he did not have the script he would have to improvise.

So spotting a messy pile of clothes laid out on the ground, he began to sort through it and fold it. He didn't know why it was there, or where it was supposed to be, or what it was for, but he was anxious to do something, anything to help. And since clothes do not usually belong on the ground, he assumed it would be a useful task to remove them. He didn't know exactly where it was meant to go, but he supposed that clothes must belong by the others in their packs. So that is where he took them.

He was hovering over their luggage, wondering if he should drop the clothes there or not when Katara hurried by carrying a bucket of water.

She spotting him holding_ their_ things, by _their_ packs, and Katara feared the worst. She still did not trust him, and was waiting for the moment when he was sure to betray him (that this moment would come she did not doubt for a second), and finding him there in front of their packs seemed to confirm her worst fears. That was it, that was why he came! Now the truth would come out and his true colours would be shown. He would ransack their belongings. He would just steal their most precious possessions, like he had stolen her necklace, and use it as bribery. She knew it! A tiger couldn't change their stripes. And so many of these thoughts rose up in her mind that it was like he had already committed them, and she rushed to impeach him for his thievery.

"What do you think you're doing?!" she snapped, snatching away the clothes angrily.

"Um, I was just…"

"Just what? Trying to steal our stuff?"

"No!" he protested, horrified at the thought. He tried to explain himself, trying to put into words his sentiments of wanting to help, but since he barely understood them himself he stumbled over them and stammered uncertainly.

"Uh, well, there were these clothes over there, so I thought…I'd you know, put it away or something," he said, vaguely gesturing towards where he had found the clothes, and then toward the bags.

Katara, though unwilling to let him steal their stuff was still just as equally unwilling to accept the fact that he had _not_ been stealing their stuff. Yet to her disappointment she could not find any way to prove that he had, and not being able to accept either truth made up for it by telling him off especially crossly.

"That's the _dirty_ laundry," she said, glaring at him angrily, "It was_ supposed_ to be there. I was just about to clean it. Now I have to move it all back!"

As she said this she gave him an especially venomous look, as if moving back the clothes was a task of about the same difficulty as moving a mountain. Angrily she stomped over to the bucket with the clothes in her hands, plunged in the clothes, and with the bucket in hand stomped away somewhere else, where she began to wash them.

Zuko was feeling guilty for his mistake, which had been magnified tenfold by Katara's unreasonably cross attitude, and so he followed her in hopes of making amends.

"Um… do you need any help or anything?" he ventured, hovering over her, but the glare she gave him conveyed her feelings so acutely that words were not needed. No, I do not want help, it seemed to say. In fact, I would much rather plunge my entire body into an ice cold vat of shark-infested waters than have _you _help me.

He looked at her violently scrubbing the laundry, whacking out particularly difficult spots against the rock like she was imagining it was his head or something, and he decided that, under the circumstances, it might be best to go away. (Woman. Honestly. Sickly sweet one moment then the next out for your blood. He'd never understand them. )

Katara's brusqueness had discourage him, and he was almost afraid to touch anything else. All the proceeding suddenly seemed so fragile and delicate, an intricate machine that would break at his very touch. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the camp, trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible and touch as little as possible. The wind was crisp and cold in the morning, and he shivered. Why was he so useless? They didn't even need him here.

But as he stared out into the lofty, endless sky that was all around them, and felt the warmth of the morning sun on his skin, he suddenly recalled that they did need him. He could fire-bend.

Yes, he couldn't give in, he wasn't useless. The Avatar needed to learn fire bending if he wanted to master all four elements and defeat the Fire Lord. And Zuko was the best fire-bending teacher they were going to get.

With these thoughts he became suddenly more cheerful and he was consumed by thoughts of how he would become a valuable member of the team, how they would be blown away by his awesome firebending skillz and it would be totally flam-ee-o.

And suddenly he became very anxious to begin the Avatar's fire-bending training, if only to prove to everyone (himself included) that he could do something useful.

So he hurried up to Aang, half intending to begin their lesson right then and there. At the sight of Fire Prince, Aang gave that wide childish grin that Zuko had at first thought so unbefitting the solemnity of the avatar. It was a free, giving sort of smile, one that held nothing back.

"Hey Zuko!" he said cheerfully, "How are you?" It was a bright, genuine, persuasive cheerfulness. He was cheerful, not in spite of you, but with you, including you, maybe even because of you.

Zuko, who had been expecting the opposite reaction, felt rather awkward and uncomfortable under this bright, unreasonable, cheerfulness. Hatred he could understand, apprehension, fear. Those he could understand, those he all knew. But this happiness, this smile, this unyielding _cheerfulness…_ How could it be possible? How could Aang be so cheerful to the likes of him? After all that he had done? After all the times he had tried to catch him, and hurt him, and destroy him, after all those times this boy nevertheless grinned at him and greeted at his former adversary like a friend.

It could not be this easy to forgive, or to be cheerful, he thought, inscribing his own personality as a general premise of mankind and therefore committing the fallacy of the illicit minor. He himself was not cheerful, at least not then, and therefore could not understand how others could be. He himself always kept his own thoughts and feelings bottled up inside him could not understand how this boy could not do the same.

And he became rather annoyed. He was annoyed, not because he was actually annoyed, but because he was falsely ascribing another feeling as annoyance. He was envious. He was jealous of his happiness and felt inferior to this cheerful, happy boy, who was also the Avatar, whom everybody liked.

It was not a pleasant feeling, and one he felt he should not be having since he was on the side of good now, after all. So hastily he shoved it aside and tired of being inferior he moved on to where he was superior, that is, in fire-bending.

"When do you want to start?" he asked brusquely. Inwardly he winced. He had not even greeted him or replied to his polite query. He had been rude and immediately regretted his words. In general, he thought to himself, he should take more care when speaking. Before, whatever thoughts he had been steaming in his head simply boiled over and burst out of him like steam from a kettle. And in those years traveling, searching for the Avatar, he had never bothered to change this habit because he was constantly in the presence of inferiors, where it didn't matter what he said because he knew that he was better than them. But now whenever he spoke it was tinged with a certain self-conciousness, the realization that what he said might affect the feelings of other people, and the desire for him to be liked as a person, and to impress upon everyone that he had changed. He felt his old, ordinary methods of speech was perhaps befitting of his old, sinful ways, but now that he had switched sides he had to switch modes of speech of well and somehow speak more extraordinarily and eloquently. He was good now; he had to speak good words. He had to do good acts. He had to do good everything.

But again he had failed.

But Aang didn't seem to mind Zuko's little _faux pas_ and just blinked at him. "Start what?" he asked with a smile.

"Fire-bending lessons," explained Zuko. And Aang's smile suddenly faded.

"Oh…" he said, looking hurriedly away. Aang had conveniently forgotten that firebending would have to be learned, and Zuko's words had suddenly reminded him of this fact. With all the business about the invasion plan, and the disastrous aftermath, the firebending which he had so dreaded had been pushed to the back of his mind. In these latter days it had been forced to the surface again, but like anybody thinking of unpleasant thoughts they did not care for, he found it much more convenient to forget them. He was afraid of firebending. He did not want to learn to firebend, because firebending only hurt people. And when he learned to firebend he would have to hurt people too, because (although he was not even conscious of this reasoning) after this was accomplished he would have to fight the Fire Lord, defeat him, and perhaps… kill him. He tried not to think of that.

But at the same time Aang knew that firebending was something that he had to do, that he was meant to do, and could not possibly not do, and so he resolved himself to do it.

But the fear that was always in the back of his head when he thought of firebending had not left him, and so he figured, if he could not avoid it, he could at least postpone it even for just a little while. He would do it, he thought, but he just needed some time to prepare.

And so he assured Zuko that they could begin right away, right away, that is, after he had fed Appa.

"Oh, but then I should cook some vegetables for lunch, so wait until that's done," he added thoughtfully, "but then of course we'll all need to eat together and then… "Then he ran out of things he had to do. "Then I guess we can start!"

Aang hurried off and to do said things, and Zuko tried to pretend that this was what he had wanted all along, and that really he was occupied here in the middle of a camp doing a very important task.

But just as Aang left, he suddenly turned and asked Zuko, quite simply, if he would like to help him.

Zuko was surprised, not only by the request, but also how very glad it made him feel.

"Yeah sure," he replied, trying to sound cool and nonchalant about it, "That'd be cool." As if it didn't really matter whether he helped with Aang or helped by doing what he had previously been doing (which was nothing). But the real, genuine smile that had appeared on his face gave away his true feelings.

Together they set out to care for Appa.

The big bison was happy to see them, and especially joyous since Zuko was there. For some reason Appa had decided that Zuko was the best thing since sliced bread and loved him with a giant, simple, animal devotion. Appa did not care that Zuko had not been the best person in the past. Appa did not care that his new friend was the very enemy who had caused all their previous pains, he did not care that Zuko could be cruel and short-tempered. Appa loved and trusted him with such a child-like simplicity that Zuko was somehow heartened. This animal loved him, and he had only done one small good deed. Perhaps the others could trust him too?

But no, humans were not like animals. Humans were complicated and silly and mean. He wished humans were more like Sky Bisons.

Aang handed Zuko a brush and he lost himself in the rhythmic, steady movements of the bison grooming. Up and down, up and down, across a sea of white bison hair. He didn't have to think he was useless, he didn't have to replay all his mistakes over and over again, he simply had to work and be useful.

Aang finished feeding his friend, Aang joined in too, and they worked together in silence, separated by the massive body of the animal. They didn't speak but were united in a common purpose, united in a task that had to be done, united in the great body of Appa, and Zuko felt himself slipping into that warm companionship he had felt last night at the fire.

Aang interrupted this tenous silence with a question.

"By the way," he asked, appearing from behind a massive leg, "Where did you go last night?"

"Oh..." replied Zuko vaguely, not looking up, "Just out." He applied himself to working out a particularly knotted area above one of Appa's legs. He didn't really want to talk about it. He didn't even know himself why he had left, except for that fact that he just couldn't have stayed _here_ any longer.

Aang glanced at the older boy, who was working steadily, trying to hide his face with his arm which was reaching up to brush Appa's back.

"You can stay here you know," said Aang, and Zuko stopped brushing momentarily in suprise, "You're part of our team now."

But Zuko didn't say anything. He couldn't say anything. He thought that although he was part of it, he wasn't really _part_ of it. Could he ever really be part of it? Him? Part of _them_?

"Look, I'm serious Zuko," said Aang, "Why don't you get your stuff from the woods and I'll show you a room you can stay?"

And somehow it was arranged that Zuko was to retrieve his things from the forest and be set up in a spare room in the temple.

"If you insist," Zuko said, but he was pleased.

And so after they had finished brushing, Zuko set out immediately to do these things.

He returned to his small campsite. It was tiny and he held no particular affection for it. It was not a difficult thing to leave. He gathered his meager belongings and was gone.

As he walked through the woods back to the temple, he could not help but notice it was a beautiful day. Sunlight streamed through the leafy boughs and cast a luminous curtain over the mossy rocks. The tree trunks were big and old, staring down with ancient solemnity.

He could hear birds twittering in the breeze, branches creaking and bending in the wind, the sound of someone humming…

Ah, but who?

He peeked through the branches and saw Sokka. The boy had evidently just returned from a successful hunt, for he was holding his slain prey over his shoulder and marching triumphantly and cheerfully back to the camp. He was humming a merry melody of no particular tune, but made all the more merry by the beautiful day and the beautiful forest.

Zuko's first instinct was to turn back and avoid him. He could take the long way back to the camp. But he'd have turn around right now. Otherwise Sokka would see him and he'd have to walk all the way back to camp with him and it would be exceedingly awkward.

But it was too late; just as Zuko made to turn away, the Water Tribe boy spotted him.

"Oh, uh, hey there Zuko," he said, and on his face flickered an involuntary frown. It was quickly covered up, but he was no longer as merry as he had been before.

"Hi," replied Zuko, evidently feeling the need to say something in return, and to explain why he was out here in the middle of the forest, "I was, uh, just getting my stuff."

In order to illustrate his point, he gestured to the bags he was carrying and Sokka nodded. That was his stuff all right.

"Yeah, okay. Cool." he replied.

They walked in silence for a bit.

"The forest sure is…um…nice today," commented Zuko.

"Yep," agreed Sokka, "It sure is nice. Very….um… green. And you know, foresty."

He nodded knowledgeably then pretended to have his attention caught by a particularly large tree. He stared at in mock fascination. Zuko in turn became engrossed in the strange patterns on the ground made by rocks and tree roots, and they both became so riveted by their respective objects of fascination that they no longer found any need to talk. Or rather, they had no need to, or just simply could not out of awkwardness, talk, and thus became riveted by their respective objects. This suddenly renewed interest in local wildlife sustained them throughout their trip.

When they came close to the temple, Sokka began to walk faster. He burst into where the gang was just beginning to make lunch.

"Lunch has arrived!" he declared, hoisting his prey like a victorious flag and grinning broadly. His entire tone and attitude was utterly different than that he had used to talk to Zuko, and he suddenly felt absurdly jealous.

"Hurrah!" cried Toph, "Meat!"

She sat up abruptly and took it, intending to prepare it into a soup.

Aang wrinkled his nose distastefully. He was sitting in front of his own, meatless pot with Katara, boiling a few vegetables together. They had been talking together, but Katara fell silent at the sight of Zuko, and Aang remembered how he had promised to show the prince his new room.

"I'll show your room in a second, Zuko," he said, giving the pot a stir.

"No, I can do it myself if you're busy," Zuko said self-conciously, since Aang seemed preoccupied.

But it was Sokka, who after his hunt had nothing in particular to do anymore, who with a weary and valiant air, as if he was a soldier taking on an exceptionally distasteful task, finally offered to show Zuko around.

"Come on Zuko, old buddy, old pal" he said wearily, gesturing the prince to follow, "I'll show you the rounds."

He went in the temple with Zuko and proceeded to "show him the rounds" which apparently meant pointing out every trivial detail of the temple in his best impersonation of a tour guide. But as Sokka had not met many tour guides, it was unfortunately not a very apt impersonation. But a valiant effort all the same.

"This is a pillar," said Sokka, pointing to a pillar, "And that, as you can see, is a wall." (He pointed to a wall.)

"So it is." commented Zuko. Sokka kept on talking.

"Now you can see from the arches over there that the temple is built in the neo-classical style with distinct rococo influences," continued Sokka, now just making stuff up, "And, oh my, just _look_ at those flying buttresses! How Romanesque!"

What he was pointing to was not, in fact, a flying buttress, and flying buttresses aren't even Romanesque anyway, nor was the temple anything at all remotely resembling rococo, but it didn't matter. They both understood this commentary was necessary, in order to alleviate the absolute absurdness of the situation. They both barely knew each other, and until recently had been enemies, so any other type of conversation would have been impossible.

As it was, Zuko was just grateful the boy was talking to him. Sokka, for his part, was just pretty happy himself that Zuko wasn't trying to kill him, or capture Aang, or anything he had previously associated with the prince up to this point. Even though he still kind of thought he was a jerk.

"And here's another pillar…and another….and oh look, it's another pillar!"

They passed by a large number of pillars, which Sokka unfailingly managed pointed out.

"Doric columns, I believe. Or maybe Ionic? Oh!" he said, as he suddenly came up with a great joke.

"Oh!" he said eagerly, "wouldn't it be….(wait for it)…_ ionic_ if they were ionic?"

He looked expectantly at Zuko. "Eh? Eh? Get it? Ionic_?_ As in _ironic_?! Ha! Amirite?"

The joke didn't really make sense, but seeing as he was supposed to laugh, Zuko gave a weak chuckle that got caught in his throat.

"Never mind," Sokka said, and he continued the tour. He supposed his highly sophisticated humour was lost on a stuck up aristocrat like Zuko. Their footsteps echoed down the empty halls.

They reached the room and Sokka stopped abruptly in front of it.

"So here you go, home sweet home. I guess, you know, for now."

Zuko entered, walking through the doorway not only to a new room but a new life. Sokka hung around at the doorway. "Unpack…" he said, to be polite, "Lunch soon…Uh welcome aboard?"

And to Sokka's surprise, the boy smiled. It was strange, but Sokka had almost thought that Zuko _couldn't_ smile. Even after all that time, Zuko had seemed less human to him, more like a steady, constant machine, to be depended upon to show up like clock-work at the most inconvenient time. An unfeeling robot with no other goal but to cause their group grief. But now he smiled and Sokka realized that maybe Zuko was a person after all.

Even so, the smile didn't become him. Sokka was looking at the side with the scar, and it made his face look angry and unnatural. But it was the thought that counted, right?

Sokka turned. "Yeah…"he sighed. It was the thought that count.

He walked up to Aang, who had finally finished his cooking and hurried to catch up to them. "Ok, this is really, really weird."

Aang smiled. "He's not so bad."

"Maybe," said Sokka, still not entirely convinced, "But it's still weird."

XxXxX

The room was bare, cold and empty. There was a small cot in the corner, and that was about it. Just a cold, drafty, empty room.

Certainly not a palace, that was for sure.

But he had not left his palace in order to find a better one. It was impossible, first of all, because life doesn't get much better than the Palace of the Fire Lord. Back there he had lived in the lap of luxury, with sumptuous bed sheets, magnificent towering walls, lush red curtains and pure gold toilets.

But even as he lived in the magnificent quarters, those beautiful halls and rich curtains, something had always felt off, as if, although beautiful on the outside, it was like a sweet perfume used to cover up something stinking and rancid. It was not like he had remembered as a child.

Maybe that was because he no longer was a child, and he had seen the rottenness that their luxury covered up for himself.

Maybe because he knew, while the inhabitants of the palace lived a gilded life of pleasure, there were other streets, far away covered in bleary eyed people without homes or family, forced to sleep in the dust and mud, in the cold and the rain. Refugees whose livelihood had been destroyed by the self-same people who lived in this shining palace, who lived as if in heaven while they sent others the opposite direction.

So Zuko had no right to complain about the shabbiness of his new dwelling place. He knew what his country had done, and this was the way to fix it, then this is what he had to do.

So slowly sat down on the small lumpy bed and began to unpack. There was not much to empty out, and few of it was especially important anyway. His hand touched something square and solid and his heart clenched in recognition.

Uncle…

Iroh's solemn unblinking eyes stared back at him from the portrait. _Would he be proud of me?_ Zuko thought. The portrait did not answer. Destiny was a funny thing, he thought to himself, suddenly recalling his uncle's words from so long ago. You never know how things are going to work out.

And he remembered how he had first came to this temple, so long ago, looking for the avatar. He had been so different then, so determined, so naïve and hopeful. He had been determined to find the Avatar no matter what.

And well, he had found him. Would he ever have believed that then? So many years later, yet he had actually found him. And in this self-same temple. But under what different circumstances! He never could have imagined things would have turned out this way. Uncle was right. Destiny was a funny thing.

He smiled and closed his eyes.

He heard a small noise from the doorway, and realized that someone was at his door. He turned. Katara was there, leaning ominously on the doorway and frowning.

He got up, thinking to say something nice, although he knew not what, but Katara cut him short.

"You might have everyone else here buying your 'transformation'," she hissed, "But you and I both know you've struggled with doing the right thing in the past."

She loomed in the doorway, dangerous and ominous.

Zuko wanted to say something, but couldn't. He wanted to defend himself, but he couldn't. He could only listen, horrified, as she condemned him with her words.

"So let me tell you something right now," she said, approaching him menacingly, "You make one step backward, one slip-up, give me one reason to think you might hurt Aang... and you won't have to worry about your destiny anymore. Because I'll make sure your destiny ends right then and there... permanently."

* * *

**WOAH WOAH WAIT A MINUTE. I COULD'VE SWORN I'VE HEARD THAT FROM SOMEWHERE BEFORE?! LIKE IT SOUNDS SO FAMILIAR?! WHAT IS GOING ON?! DEJA VUUUU?!**


	3. Firebending lessons

There was much for Zuko to think about, and he thought about it so intently that he barely noticed that it was lunchtime and that everyone was eating. He paid absolutely no attention the chatter around him, more merry now that they realized he was not taking part in it and so they could speak freely, and he concentrated solely on the worries and cares that engulfed him. His thoughts darkened as he thought of the recent scene with Katara, and her hateful expression that had been directed unequivocally towards him, and her sincere threat which he had no doubt she would carry out. The she _would_ carry it out he did not doubt, he thought. As he recalled her firm, uncompromising tone, the way she had stared with eyes as if of iron, he had no doubt she would not kill him if he threatened the safety of those she cared for. That was the way she was, like a giant mother lion-moose who would defend those she cared for, loyal, steadfast and firm till the very end. Unlike him, he supposed.

The tentative pleasantness he had felt in Aang's company, and how he had felt very nearly accepted had quickly been evaporated beneath Katara's inexplicable hatred.

_Well, fine, that's how it would be_, he told himself crossly. He wasn't asking for his friendship. He'd just do what had to be done. Teach Aang firebending.

This was the right thing to do. The honourable thing to do. Katara may think he had no honour, but he'd prove her wrong.

He must regain his honour, he couldn't help but think with an ironic twinge.

As these old worn out words could not help but tumble through his head, recalling back a distant time (yet was it not only a few weeks ago?) of confusion and desperation, when he had always been raging with some unexplained inner turmoil that he could not explain and threatened to burst forth any second.

But that was gone now. Inside was only that grimly cold iron certainty of what had to be done.

And with this cold, iron certainty he began to plan out how the lesson should go, ignoring the merry chatter of the rest of the gang, ignoring the warm roaring fire that they were huddled around, ignoring everything but the rigid logical structure of how the lesson would go. It had to be perfect. This was his only change to prove himself.

Start with the basics. That's where he had to begin. First he should gauge Aang's level, to see where to begin. He probably wasn't very advanced, so he should begin simple moves. Fire squats, dragon bursts. The very simple forms. Starting position A then proceed to B and then C… Easy.

And he thought it through so thoroughly, so methodically, that he could practically picture what was going to happen in his mind.

He'd stand on the balcony of the temple, his face stony and unmovable, looking fierce and tough like any proper warrior would.

Then he'd have to say something really dramatic and awe-inspiring that would give a suitable ceremony to the whole preceding. Yes, that was important. He began planning out his speech, considering each possibility and the affect it would have on his young pupil. It had to be good.

He'd say something like, "Firebending in itself is not something to fear," in a really quite ominous voice then he'd shout, "BUT! If you don't respect it…"

He tried to think of an appropriate metaphor. "It'll burn you up like a coal in a fire?" Or maybe, "It'll toss you around like a ship in a hurricane?" No, that was no good at all.

He finally settled for "It'll chew you up and spit you out like an angry komodo dragon!"

Yeah, that's the stuff.

Then he'd get Aang to show him his firebending, which he predicted would be rather abysmal, and he'd frown as if it was a hopeless case. Aang would look anxious and be all like, "this is impossible!" and then he'd be all like, "Oh really?' and then Aang would be like, "Yeah really," and Zuko'd be like, "Let me show you how it's done."

Then he'd start the forms and the fire would blast through the air like ribbons, soaring like bright red cardinals in flights. The fire would rage and roar through the air, dangerous but oh so beautiful, and at once everyone would see his mastery and skill and be impressed.

He smiled to himself as he pictured it, and the idea was so pleasing to him that he ran it through his head each time, on each play through adding more and more rhetorical flourishes and tiny embellishments so that it got greater and more elaborate each time.

Soon it had turned into something like this:

Thanks to his flawless teaching Aang would become a fire bending MASTER in just a couple of days and then they'd all sally forth on an epic quest to stop the Fire Lord once and for all and save the world from his crazy world-domination plot, and thanks to Zuko's great teaching Aang would defeat him in a couple of seconds, but then just when he was about to win the Fire Lord would send a final burst off flame right at Aang's head but then Zuko would push him away just in time and Aang would be all like, "Thanks Zuko you saved my life" then go defeat the Fire Lord and free the world from his yoke of tyranny and there'd be joy and happiness and celebrations forevermore.

And all because of him.

Zuko realized at once the impossibility of such actions, and forced himself to stop daydreaming.

Yet deep inside he couldn't help but wish that this was what could really happen.

But he shouldn't be thinking this way. He shouldn't be trying to prove that he was better than they were. He should do his tasks without bragging or gloating, not because it made him look good because it was _good_. That's what good people did, wasn't it, and he was a good guy now. So why was his ridiculous pride taunting him with these unachievable daydreams? Why was he trying to prove himself to be better than everybody else?

But he couldn't help wishing for it. Because although he didn't want to admit it, Zuko's pride had taken a quite the beating the last little while, and it was necessary for him, because he was so accustomed to it, to be superior for once. He had been superior his entire life, and now that he was not he felt completely inferior and worthless.

Zuko was a prince, the son of the great and powerful Fire Lord ruler of the unconquerable Empire of Fire, who was rumoured to be descended from the spirits themselves, and for most of his young life he had been treated with all the rank and ceremony awarded from such. Whether or not his family were descended from spirits, (and Zuko had always looked upon this last claim with a hefty dose of skepticism for he above all people knew his family was far from godly), when one is treated like a god on earth, when one is waited on and served from their youngest childhood and told each day what an extraordinary person one is, one almost begins to believe it.

It feels good to believe it, and for a while he _had_ believed it.

Yet by now he had realized he was hardly the great person he had made himself up to be, and after further reflection he realized he had always known this. He had always been the weak one, the one whom his sister showed up, the one who his father never loved, the one who only made mistakes. Yet before he had managed to retreat behind his rank and station, remembering that no matter what he was the son of the _Fire Lord_, and therefore somehow better. Yes, Team Avatar might be good and great, but he was a _prince _and they but mere peasants and he had managed to feel good about himself.

But he couldn't continue this farce any longer. His blood meant nothing to him now, he was no longer proud of his heritage. He had seen that his father was but a mere man, foolish and deluded.

And as he stayed among Team Avatar he was struck daily by their goodness, their steady companionship, their free easy laughter, their nobleness and valour, their humbleness, their compassion; everything that made them so good and heroic, he all the more clearly saw his grievous faults, his mistakes and felt terribly inferior. If this was a tv show they'd be the good guys, and he the nefarious villain who tried to thwart all their plans.

He felt positively pathetic in their presence, and he needed something to take pride in if he wished to be able to stand among them. Since he could not imagine taking pride in his character (the words of his mother flashed through his mind, but this time he pushed it away. Last time it had done him no good.) he decided that the safest bet would to take pride in his abilities.

He could firebend. That's what here was here for, and that's what he would do.

That's all he needed. This was what he had to do.

Then why did he feel so empty?

But he pushed that aside, and fell back into daydreams. He was so into the planning and methods of his teaching, that when the time arrived, that same time he had been anticipating with an anxious enthusiasm since he had first thought of it, when that time he had been thinking of so long finally arrived he was too still too busy thinking of it to realize that it had actually arrived.

"Zuko, are you ready?" Aang asked.

"Ready?" he mumbled absently, wondering what possibly he was needed to be ready for, then straightened with remembrance. "Oh right!"

He sprang up from his seat. He realized he must look ridiculous, and quickly tried to compose himself and appear the super cool firebending teacher he had imagined in his plans.

"Right, let's begin," he said solemnly.

Moments later he and Aang were standing on one of the pagoda's many balconies and the lesson began.

Zuko prattled out his carefully composed speech (he thought Aang looked suitably impressed), and asked Aang to show him what he got.

Aang sighed, then gathered himself and stood up straight. _I can do this, I can do this…_ the boy thought to himself. He gathered all his inner energy, stored it up inside of him, bent his knees and thrust his hands outward and… nothing. Just the tiniest wisp of smoke.

Aang gave a sheepish little smile then drooped sadly. Zuko resisted the urge to smile, because this is what he had expected, and instead tried to appear solemn and mysterious, like his Uncle when he had taught him. But everything was going according to plan, now he only needed to find an excuse to show off his amazing firebending.

"…Maybe I need a little more instruction," Aang said mournfully, just at that moment, unwittingly playing right into Zuko's hand, "Perhaps a demonstration?

Here it was. His big moment.

"You might want to step back," Zuko advised the boy, and, after taking a deep, preparatory breath, he moved his arms in a dramatic flourish. He'd just do a simple move, but an impressive one: the fire would fly out and loop around like a dragon and soar into the sky and it would be beautiful.

And he breathed in deeply, felt the fire inside of him and…

And…

And well, you know what happened.

_Nothing_ happened.

Aang applauded with such tactful politeness that it was entirely tactless.

"What was that?!" cried Zuko, feeling a deep dark despair welling up inside him, "That was the worst firebending I've ever seen!"

"I thought it was…nice?" offered Aang generously.

Zuko barely heard him. It couldn't have happened, it couldn't be. It was so entirely contrary to what he had expected, to what had happened every other time he had firebent, to all his training and knowledge, that he could not believe this could be happening. It was a nightmare, a bad dream. It must be a bad dream, because if it was true…

He tried again.

But each time he tried again, refusing to accept that it could be true, the same, terrible results flashed before him like tiny fireflies. Little flames, barely bigger than a baby dragon's sneeze. He, the very prince of the Fire Nation, who had been trained in firebending since his birth, was producing these tiny, pathetic flames.

He, Aang's firebending teacher, the one whom the entire world was counting on to save the world, could not even do the simplest firebending maneuver.

It was frustrating, terrifying, and above all utterly _embarrassing_. What must Aang think of him? After the boy had trusted him, let Zuko into the group, and counted on him for lessons. And for what?

For nothing! It was worthless!

_He_ was worthless.

He tried another move. It did not work and he stared at his useless palms.

"Why is this happening?!" he yelled, not understanding, still barely accepting what was going on.

"Maybe it's the altitude?" said Aang, still generously trying to be helpful. Yet somehow these words drove in the reality of the situation and he realized that this was really happening, and that he truly had just let down someone who was counting on him.

"Yeah," he said, and he looked away, "Could be."

But inside he did not believe it.

XxXxXxX

They moved to a lower level.

Zuko's head was broiling with a dark storm of feelings, so much that he could not express it all. He tried to focus it through his body and into his powerful bursts of flame, of firebending, but it would not. It would not flow, it was not like fire. It was something dark and terrible that just swirled around and knotted inside of him and would not move cleanly. It boiled and burst and swept up huge waves that crashed down on him and he thought he would drown. He was ashamed. He was ashamed that he could not do something he had previously thought so simple, something that he had expected himself to do with such ease. He was ashamed because he had failed to accomplish what he had so very much wanted, and ashamed because he was afraid that Aang would now be looking down on him. Already there was so much cause for him to look down on him. And now that Zuko couldn't firebend, what _could _he do? He would be useless, they already hated him, what else was he to do? With a rising swell of desperation in his heart, so strong and deep that it threatened to engulf him, he thrust out his hands and tried to channel the fire through his body. But just then that wave of shame and sadness seemed to crash down right in his chest, and he felt utterly cold, like he had felt that very first night when he had left the fire, and this coldness extinguished any flames he might have had.

No, he couldn't think this way! He forced himself to remain calm.

"Just breathe, and..."

He tried again.

"That one kind of felt hot," said Aang optimistically, sitting up from old fallen pillar he had been resting on.

Zuko knew that this flame did not feel any hotter than the last, it was pathetic and terrible, and felt an irrational wrath at Aang's words. Why did was he trying to be so nice about it? Didn't he know how terrible this was? How could he be so optimistic? He ought to be mad! He _must_ be mad, he must be laughing at me behind his words! These unreasonable thoughts filled Zuko and he exploded.

"Don't patronize me!" he shouted, "You know what it's supposed to look like!"

"Sorry Sifu Hotman," Aang said mildly, and this ridiculous title somehow also annoyed Zuko. Some Sifu he was turning out to be!

"And stop calling me that!" he cried.

Aang cringed slightly, which made Zuko feel a little guilty. He knew it wasn't Aang's fault, and he probably wasn't patronizing him, but Zuko habitually dealt with his problems by getting angry. And he could not help but feel that way in the sensitive, violently emotional state he was in right then.

Yes, the anger, that's what he needed. He focused on that angry rage, that terrible, burning wrath, and tried to gather it up inside of him and focus it through his hands. But just as suddenly he thought of Aang and the boy's happy grin at him, and his kind words, and the anger dissipated as quickly as it had come. He couldn't hate Aang. But why!? Why, right when he needed it, could he not get angry at this mild, friendly little boy? Why couldn't he feel that warm, uncertain rage inside of him, fueling everything he did, feeling that same perpetual despairing fire that drove him always onwards? What was wrong with him?

But it was gone. The fire of anger was gone. He felt that cold certainty of what he had to do, that he had to do what was right, that icy satisfaction of knowledge, and although he looked he could not find that blazing heat that had supported him so long.

He knew what he had to do now, but now that he knew, he could not do it.

And a cool, terrible despair washed over him.

His firebending was gone.

* * *

**Somebody call the WAAmbulance because we've got a serious casualty here. Cry me a river Zuko. **

**Lol, but I don't really need to finish this story eh? We all know what happens.**

**This is kind of a sucky place to end though. Maybe I'll just do one more chapter then call it quits. **


End file.
